


Cas, Forgive Me

by ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e18 Point of No Return, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from 5-18 ‘Point of No Return’.  Dean sent Cas back to Heaven, but Cas had rebelled, he was hunted; and bad things happened while he was there.  Can Cas forgive Dean?   </p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas, Forgive Me

Castiel leant into Dean, his hand fisted in Dean's jacket, their faces a mere breath's width apart.

“I rebelled for this?!”  Castiel spit out.  “So that you could surrender to them?" Castiel was seriously angry.  Dean had seen him angry before but not like this.

“Cas! Please!”

Dean was scared, petrified, in fact.  Cas had a right to be angry and he was powerful, much more powerful than Dean and Dean was already beaten against the alley wall, his cheek and mouth bleeding from Cas' fist, his head throbbing from where Cas had hurled him against the brick.  And somewhere in his befuddled mind, he knew he deserved everything Cas was throwing at him.

“I gave everything for you. And this is what you give to me?”

Castiel pulled Dean from the wall and pushed him away, aiming a kick to his chest that lifted him off his feet to be stopped by the fence that cut across the width of the alley.  Dean bounced off it and as he half lay on the dirty, grimy alley slime, his back against the fence, he willed Cas to take his revenge.

“Do it. Just do it.”

But instead Dean watched as Castiel stood there staring down at him and his hand unfurled from its fist.  Dean flinched as Castiel moved in close to him, and the light touch of fingers on his shoulder was the last thing he felt.

~*~*~*

Castiel sat on one of Bobby’s old wooden chairs, exhausted, frustrated, angry and in almost unbearable pain. 

Dean had sent him back to heaven and that had been a really, really bad idea.  Surely Dean must have known that sending him back to Heaven would be akin to signing his death warrant?  Castiel hoped Dean hadn't deliberately sent him somewhere to be killed.  Castiel hoped it was just Dean being Dean; selfish, unthinking, and very stupid. 

It wouldn't make the injuries that his brothers and sisters had inflicted on him any less debilitating, it wouldn't make the pain go away, it wouldn't take away the nightmare memory of being hunted, chased for the months in Heaven that had been only a few hours here on Earth. It would mean he might one day feel less angry and betrayed.  One day.  Not today.

He watched as Sam and Bobby checked over Dean, where Castiel had dumped him unceremoniously and none-too-gently on Bobby's bed in Bobby's den. Castiel could have told them Dean would be fine, nothing but a few cuts and bruises and a bit of angel mojo, but he couldn't be bothered and, petty though he realised it was, he wasn't feeling particularly helpful.  

He was feeling, in fact, very strange; like he was shutting down, little by little.  The drive to survive that had over-whelmed every other feeling and sensation for the past six months, evading capture, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, was less pronounced now he was back on Earth and he was moderately safe.  Now he felt like that had been the only thing that had been keeping him going.  As that drive left him, he felt weak.

He watched with only vague interest as, finally satisfied Dean didn't have any serious injuries that needed attention, Sam took Dean's arm and wrapping it round his neck, picked his unconscious brother up in a fireman's lift and carried him towards the downstairs panic room.  Castiel felt slightly dislocated, fuzzy, not wholly there, but registered Dean's absence in relief; glad, for the moment, to get the man out of his sight.  

Bobby watched them go then turned concerned eyes on Castiel. “You don’t look so good, Cas”. 

Castiel knew it was a question not a statement.  He wasn't angry at Bobby, it wasn’t Bobby's fault.  "I will be fine".  He hoped it was true.

Sam returned from settling Dean in the panic room and Bobby talked to Sam, with his eyes still on Castiel, still worried.

"How is he?"  Bobby asked Sam.

"Still out."

Castiel felt Sam's gaze flick across to him.  He was undoubtedly wondering why Castiel had beaten his brother.  Castiel had no intention of enlightening him.   He looked forward to hearing Dean's explanation when he woke.

They talked about Adam.  About how best to get him back.  Castiel interjected when he thought it was useful, but had little to say, and little energy to say it.  He had no faith in Dean.  No faith that he wouldn’t say yes to Michael.  He knew Michael would take Dean if he could; or possibly Adam, if not Dean.  Their cause was lost.  Everything he had given up had ultimately been for nothing, but he was committed to see it through, whatever ‘it’ was.  He had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.

“Adam is bait.  They’ll wait to see if Dean comes.  They will prefer Dean to Adam.  They won’t wait forever, but they’re playing a long game.  They’ll wait at least a few days. ”

“Do you know where they are, Cas?”  Bobby was still looking at him oddly, had moved his chair to be near him, had moved his hand subconsciously to support Castiel’s arm once or twice and Castiel knew he must be showing signs of his injuries. 

He took a few breaths to regain control.  There were still things to do.  Shallow breaths were all he could manage.  His lungs didn’t seem to be working properly and anything more sent pain arcing through his chest.  He tried to keep it out of his face.  He wasn’t sure if he was successful or not; was past caring.

“They will be holding him in the Room, where Dean was held before.”  Castiel pushed down the painful and pointless memories that that was where it had all started, where he had stood beside Dean, instead of beside his brethren. 

He realized suddenly, with bitter surprise, that he’d been _allowed_ to escape from Heaven.  He dropped his head and let out a small, harsh laugh.  He caught surprise on Bobby and Sam’s faces from the corner of his eye in his lowered head, but he didn’t share his discovery.

The angels needed Castiel here with Sam and Bobby and Dean, because only Castiel knew where the Room was.  The chase, the fight, the impression that they were trying to stop him escaping were all a hoax.  They’d planned it.  They needed him to escape.  The injuries they’d inflicted had deliberately not been intended to kill, could now be seen as intentionally cruel and taunting and vicious.

He thought it ironic that his brothers may have gone too far.   They’d either forgotten he was cut off from the powers of Heaven, or underestimated the effect.  They must not have realized that he may not have the strength to heal himself.  That he may fail in the task they’d given him ultimately because they couldn’t stop themselves torturing just for the sheer fun of it.

Castiel wondered what his brothers would think now if they knew he could do nothing about the wet, sticky blood spreading on his side and his shoulder and down his arm, or his weak state as his vessel kept leaking its life-force away, his heart having to work harder and harder to pump less and less blood round his body; his breathing getting more difficult, requiring thought, where he’d never had to think about it before.  He could even feel the places where his little remaining grace seeped out in small tears, impervious to his attempts to seal it in.

Castiel knew that ultimately they wouldn’t care, that if he died from his injuries, they’d think of something else even if Zachariah would be a bit pissed off at first.  He smiled a little at the influence of Dean creeping into his thoughts, realized he was more lightheaded than before and Sam and Bobby were looking at him strangely.

“Cas?  You okay?”

Ignoring the question, he returned to the problem at hand. 

“We shouldn’t take Dean with us.  We should leave him here.” He spoke weakly, resigned to his imminent fate.  Even if it was a trap, they still needed to try and get Adam.  Adam could be a viable vessel for Michael.

“Too damned right.  I don’t trust that boy not to say yes.  Do you?” Bobby looked at Sam challenging him to disagree.

“I don’t see we have a choice.  We need all the hands we can get.”

Castiel watched Sam and Bobby argue it between them while he drifted in and out, listening to the conversation, knowing he should care, but not finding the necessary energy. 

Bobby finally turned to him “Cas?  Help me out here.”

He looked from Bobby to Sam “I think it’s a bad idea.  But Sam has already made up his mind.  Our opinions don’t count.”  The look he gave Sam was one of disappointment, but if Sam noticed, he chose to ignore it.

Castiel looked to Bobby “I should leave.  I have to see the level of protection so we can best plan our attempted rescue.”  Bobby looked as if he was going to say something but Castiel flew before his words came.

Flying was hard.  Agony.  A case of tearing muscle and ripping skin on too little grace.  He hoped he would have enough grace left to fly back to Bobby’s with the information he gathered. 

He walked as much as he could and used his grace as little as he could while he investigated how well Adam was protected.  But it was more of a stumble and a shuffle, each footstep sending shockwaves to his frayed nerves and it was taking too long.  He had to be quicker.  His presence would be detected if he lingered and he wasn’t sure how far down the chain of command the message not to kill him had gone.    There was a risk it hadn’t reached those protecting the abandoned muffler factory where the Room was located. 

There were at least five angels wandering the outside of the Room.  There were probably more in the Room itself but he couldn’t push far enough past all the warding symbols there to get any details.  Unfortunately, Sam was right.  They didn’t have enough people to do this right.  But unlike Sam, Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean would be a help or a liability. 

Knowing he’d both lingered long enough to risk detection and that if he waited any longer neither his angelic nor his human form would have the wherewithal to return to Bobby’s, he mustered what little strength he had and flew the short return journey. 

Bobby and Sam were where he’d left them in the Den, but not talking, waiting, everything that could be said, already spoken.  On landing, Castiel swayed alarmingly and grabbed the back of the nearest chair dropping himself in it hard in preference to falling.

“Cas?”  Bobby started forward, his voice high.

“I’m fine.”  Castiel didn’t care how ridiculous or unlikely that sounded right now, or whether they believed him or not.  “It is well-guarded.  I can’t breach the Room.  I am outnumbered.  We have no choice but to try more Earth-bound means.” 

He took a deep breath, feeling burning in his lungs and his heart and his side, guessing he didn’t have long before unconsciousness took over.  He had to leave, to go somewhere to rest and try and heal, at least enough for what he knew was coming. 

 “You should get ready.  I’ll return in a few hours.”

He stood, preparing to fly, but when he tried, he couldn’t. 

Frustrated, he felt himself finally giving in to his injuries.   He was losing focus on his surroundings, everything fazing out; sound, light, colour, consciousness.  He half heard the older hunter say his name urgently.  He half saw movement as Sam strode the long steps to his side.  He half felt strong arms wrap around him as his legs buckled and then he heard, saw and felt nothing more.

~*~*~*~

Dean woke blearily in the panic room, but his senses fast returning.  He shook his wrist experimentally when he felt it restrained and opening his eyes, he wasn’t too surprised to find himself handcuffed to the cot in Bobby’s Panic room.

“How you feeling?” 

Dean looked up at Sam, wincing.  Frigging Cas.  He knew he deserved it but he was fairly sure he’d learnt his lesson before the last hard kick against the fence.

“Word to the wise: don’t piss off the nerd angels. So how’s it going?” 

“Adam’s gone. The angels have him.”

“Where?” Dean wasn’t surprised by anything anymore.  Shit just happened.  To them.  All the time.  To expect anything different was dumb.

“The room where they took you.” 

“You sure?”

“Cas did a re-con.” 

Dean thought he heard a hesitation in Sam’s voice that meant he wasn’t telling him everything, but hell, he was so used to Sam not telling him everything these days he couldn’t see a point in asking.  He probably wouldn’t get a straight answer anyway.

“And?”

“And the place is crawling with mooks…Pretty much a no-shot-in-hell, hail-Mary kind of thing.” 

“Ah, so the usual. What are you going to do?” 

“For starters…I’m bringing you with.”

“Excuse me?”  Seriously, how could Sam be that dumb.  He’d just run out on them.  Cas beating him up in an alley hadn’t exactly changed his mind. 

Sam came over and unlocked the handcuffs holding Dean to the cot.  Dean watched Sam, not sure what he expected from him.

"There are too many of them. We can’t do it alone. And uh, you’re pretty much the only game in town.”

That was a reason Dean could understand, though he still thought it was pretty stupid “Isn’t that a bad idea?”

“Cas and Bobby think so.”  Again Dean thought he heard something hidden in Sam’s voice, but nothing he could put his finger on, but it was gone when Sam continued “but I’m not so sure.” 

Sam wanted to have faith in him.  Dean didn’t want his faith, unjustified as it was. “Well, they’re right. Because either it’s a trap to get me there to make me say yes, or it’s not a trap and I’m gonna say yes anyway. And I will. I’ll do it. Fair warning.”

“No, you won’t. When push shoves, you’ll make the right call.”  Dean really wasn’t sure who Sam was trying to convince here.  It certainly wasn’t Dean.

“You know, if tables were turned…I’d let you rot in here. Hell, I  _have_  let you rot in here.”

“Yeah, well…I guess I’m not that smart.”

“I—I don’t get it. Sam, why are you doing this?”

“Because… you’re still my big brother.” 

And in that one sentence, Dean thought, was wrapped everything, everything that had gone before and everything that would come after, and maybe Sam was right to have a little faith.  Hell, one of them had to.

"Sam, something else is eating you.  Give." 

"What happened between you and Cas?”  Sam looked away briefly, then back at Dean, watching his face intently.  Dean got the impression this was pretty important for some reason.   

Dean thought back to the fight in the alley.  How did he wrap up the fact that he’d taken everything away from Cas and threw it back in his face?  That he’d been a selfish ass and Cas had called him on it? 

"I guess he was pissed I sent him home."  Dean thought summarized it well enough.  Only he and Cas needed to know the rest.

"Home?  Yeah, we knew you sent him back to Oz.”  Dean thought Sam looked disappointed.  He guessed he was hoping for more insight about something, but then Sam’s jaw literally dropped.  Seriously, Dean didn’t know how he did that.  “Shit!, Of course. Home!  Heaven! The guy's wanted by every angel in the galaxy, and you sent him, unprepared, right into Heaven.  Why didn’t we think of that?  How could I be so thick?” 

Before Dean could ask what the hell that was all about, Sam raced from the panic room, leaving the door ajar, and Dean could hear his heavy footsteps take the stairs two at a time and heard him yell urgently to Bobby. 

Dean's stomach twisted in sudden panic.  This could only be bad.  Really, really bad by the sound of it.

Getting up, Dean sprinted after Sam, out of the unlocked panic room, up the stairs and through to the Den.  Bobby and Sam were talking animatedly by the desk. 

The anger that flared in Bobby’s features as soon as he saw Dean and the way his body tensed in his chair, had Dean coming to a stop in a few halting steps.  "What the hell were you thinking, boy?  You think you've got some kind of patent on angst?  You go off on your own selfish tangent, we all just get smiley and happy and follow along and so what if we get killed in the process?"

What the frigging hell was that about? Dean looked from his brother to Bobby, mentally going through the checklist of who he might have got killed.  Sam? Nope, here, alive. Bobby?  Nope, ditto. Cas?

"Where's Cas?"  He looked up at Sam, the signs of worry showing in the higher tone of his voice that he couldn't keep out even if he'd wanted to.   

 He was practically yelling when he asked them again "Where's Cas?"

Sam took Dean upstairs where he’d put Cas in what had been Bobby's old room, before the chair. 

Dean looked at the unmoving, pale figure on the bed.  Cas was covered by a thin layer of sheet and blanket from the waist down, but his bare upper body showed his torso swathed in unprofessionally applied bandages on one side, pale skin peeking out between the white patchwork. 

"Fuck, Cas" he whispered under his breath and stepped up close to the bed for a better look.

Gauze, tape and bandages covered Cas’ shoulder, upper arm, and right ribcage all the way down to his hip.  Some blood had seeped through the bandages just below his ribs and his breath was shallow and ragged.  He looked deathly pale, his face white under the shock of dark hair.  Deep shadows under his eyes made him look even paler.  Dean could see the little lines round his eyes that he knew meant pain.  Once he'd thought angels couldn't feel pain, but now he knew better.  They were just really good at hiding it.  He was pretty good at spotting it in Cas these days.  He’d had more practice than he liked and this looked bad.

Dean‘s attention was caught by some scarring on Cas’ left shoulder, and he leant in and looked closer.  The scars were old, silver lines across his skin, and he could see that, partly hidden under the bandages, were even more old and half-healed cuts and bruises. 

Confused he stood up and turned to Sam.  “Some of this stuff is old, months old.”

Sam ran his hand through his hair as he answered.  Shit, but that habit drove Dean insane sometimes.  It was to buy Sam time.  Which always meant Dean wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

"He passed out just after the re-con.  He didn't say anything so I don’t really know." 

And that was a half-truth if ever Dean had heard one. 

"But you suspect so spit it out, Sammy, for fuck’s sake."

 “Time passes differently in Heaven.  A few hours here is months in Heaven.”

“You’re telling me Cas has been in Heaven for months?  Beaten up by his so-called brothers?”  Dean stared at Sam, realization hitting him as it had Sam not long ago in the panic room.

Sam nodded “that’s what we think.”

 “I sent him to Heaven for months.” Dean wasn’t sure that repeating it was helpful, but it was like his brain needed a release for his stupidity. He hadn’t thought.  He hadn’t thought that through.  He’d only really got as far as thinking, one minute Cas would be there and the next he wouldn’t.  Crap, he was such an asshole.

Dean was all sorts of thankful and amazed that the dumb son-of-a-bitch had made it out.  Way to go Team Free Will.  The internal cheer sounded weak and pathetic.  Way to go Team Free Will for the member who’d sent Cas back there in the first place.  ‘Cause that’s what team mates do isn’t it?  When Cas suddenly let out a pained moan, Dean brought himself back to the present with a jerk.  He was doing it now.  Still thinking about himself.  God, how selfish could he be?

"Why isn't he healing?" Dean leant in and looked again, sure that the bloodstain through the bandage had gotten bigger, hoping Cas wasn’t in as much pain as was written plainly across his face.

Sam shrugged "We don't know.  Its angel-on-angel violence.”

“That’s it?  We don’t know?”  Dean knew he shouldn’t be taking it out on Sam but he was just so pissed right now and Sam was not helping.

Dean tried to sound less gruff, but Jesus, couldn’t Sammy just say what was on his mind! “Sam.  Just tell me.”

“We don’t know that he’s got any angel power left at all.”

“You mean he can’t heal himself?  Is that what you’re telling me, Sam.”  Shit.  Dean looked back at Cas, then his gaze returned to Sam.  He didn’t know what his face was registering.  Didn’t know and didn’t much care if it showed that he was frightened  and angry and filled with self-loathing.

“Can he die?”

“Hell, Dean, how do I know?  I don’t even think Cas knows that.  This whole cut off from Heaven stuff is new to us all.”

Dean didn’t want Cas to die.  He was starting to realize that Cas had let him off easy in the alley.

“I’m going to stay up here with Cas for a bit, Sammy.” 

His brother took his cue, looking almost grateful, backing out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.  Dean turned back to the bed and stood looking down on the only real friend he’d ever had besides Sam.  And he’d fucked it up.  He always fucked it up. The world revolved around fucking Dean and woe betide anyone who didn’t get with the program. 

He pulled the wooden bedroom chair up close to the bed and sat on it, leaning forward, elbows on knees towards the bed and towards Cas.  He put his hand on Cas’ un-bandaged and uninjured forearm squeezing lightly, but Cas didn’t react.  Dean hadn’t expected him to. 

“Hell, I’m sorry, Cas.”

He stroked Cas’ arm subconsciously with his thumb, staring at his face, in an arrangement of his features he almost never saw.  Cas always looked worried.  He always looked intense.  He was always driven.  Now he looked young, helpless, and vulnerable and Dean hated seeing him like that.

Cas would hate Dean seeing him like that too.  Would want to cover it up behind his tough soldier-of-Heaven facade.  Would say he was fine when blood and cuts and bruises said otherwise.  But then didn't they all?  It was what they were.  It was who they were and complaining about aches and pains that were just part of the job wasn't going to make them better any quicker.  And Cas had learnt from the best.  But every now and again something like this clamoured and charged recklessly through their physical and emotional defences and they couldn't pretend it wasn't there.  Couldn't pretend it was fine. 

Dean knew they’d all be lucky to make it alive through the next few years, or even months or weeks maybe, but when Cas died, and he pushed the possibility as far down as it would go, Dean absolutely didn’t want it to be his fault.

Dean leant in to whisper in Cas’ ear, his forehead briefly leaning against Cas’ temple “I hope you’ve still got that stubborn streak in there, Cas.”

An hour passed, maybe two, when Dean did nothing except stare at his angel and think about the crap friend he was.  He was surprised out of his self-obsessed misery when he felt a twitch, a small movement in the muscle on Cas’ arm, where his hand still lay. 

Optimistically, he looked to Cas’ face for signs of life, of waking, and saw brief, small spasms of pain there as Cas slowly clawed his way back to consciousness.  The pained moans gave away how bad it really was.  Dean knew the agony of being skewered once let alone the three or four that Cas was enduring and had a lot of sympathy for what Cas was feeling.

He thought about staying to be there when Cas woke, but decided Cas would rather wake alone to get control of himself, and Dean just knew that decision came out of cowardice and who was he fooling but himself.  But he was still going to chicken out of watching Cas wake up.

“Man, I’m sorry.  It’s gonna be a bitch of a wake up call.  Seriously, you’ll be better on your own.  I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

When it looked like Cas was close to consciousness, Dean stood, stretched and with a brief sympathetic glance down left the room quietly so that Cas could wake up and collect his wits in peace and privacy.

Castiel became aware of the world around him in small, incremental changes. The pain came first. Stinging, aching, intense pain that brought every nerve in his body to instant attention, demanding to be acknowledged. Then came the awareness of sound. A sad, distressed, moaning, keening sound. 

Gradually, other senses came back so that the pain and noise weren’t his whole world. 

The smell of Earth, so different from Heaven, the unusual feeling of heat throughout his body, and the damp, sweaty slick against his skin that seemed to be a part of it; the feel of bandages and sticking tape holding him together; the unfamiliar demand from his vessel to take in water; the strange comfort of lying down which he’d found recently tended to come with all or any of the other things. And the tingle on his forearm that was pure essence of Dean.

He realized that the sound was coming from him, his damaged body forcing it out over a sandpaper tongue and through dry, chapped lip, and so he stopped it and by the time he opened his eyes he knew where he was and why. 

His relief of waking from his injuries in a relatively safe environment for the first time in several months was somewhat tempered by the feeling of helplessness as he mentally catalogued his condition, noting the limited healing, the infection he didn’t have the strength to fight that caused heat throughout his aching body, and the pain he couldn’t dispel or ignore. And the knowledge that Dean had been close, touching, not that long ago but wasn’t here now and what did that mean?

He didn’t feel angry now, but instead a confused mix of emotions twirled in his head and dragged with it unusual physical reactions, and half of them were probably residuals of Dean’s touch. Some of the emotions he knew and were familiar but some he didn’t understand. Impatience, disappointment, disillusionment, loneliness, sadness. He was relieved there was no one here right now. In particular, he was relieved Dean wasn’t here. He wasn’t sure how his emotional mix would manifest itself.

He lay there for a few minutes waiting for something to get better that would make getting up easier, but it didn’t. Nothing improved, nothing stopped hurting. Sighing, he removed the blanket spread over his legs, his pants rucked and creased and uncomfortable, and he maneuvered himself painfully to sit on the edge of the bed, his bare feet finally on the floor. He stopped to take a few breaths and get the pain under control before making the final move to standing.

~*~*~*

Dean, Bobby and Sam were in the kitchen drinking coffee in a frosty atmosphere Dean could easily have done without. He was relieved that Bobby had at least stopped shouting at him, though he ruefully considered that actually it might have been preferable to the silence.

When they heard the sound of something heavy hitting the floorboards above them Dean and Sam were out of their chairs before the echoes had time to leach away, leaping from their chairs, Dean knocking his over backwards in his haste, taking the stairs three treads at a time.

Grabbing the handle and swinging the door open wide, crashing it back against the wall, Dean was first in to the room, closely followed by Sam.

“Cas!” Dean moved forward quickly to where Cas half sat, half lay on the floor his back to the bed, a woozy, unfocussed expression on his face. 

“Why couldn’t you stay in bed, you dumbass!”

Cas didn’t seem to hear him. Crazy angel always refused to acknowledge his limitations right up until they leapt up and bit him. Dean shouldn’t have left him alone.

Dean knelt on one knee on Cas’ left side, and Sam took the other. Between them they brought Cas more or less upright sitting on the floor, using the bed as a backrest. Cas’ eyes gained some focus as the blood slowly moved to all the right places. Cas looked at Sam, finally aware enough to register his companions, but as he turned his head back to Dean, Dean saw the muscles tense in the line of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. 

Dean had never seen Cas look at him like that before. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even disgust. Those looks he was more than familiar with. This one was… he wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t too far removed from the one his Dad had given him when he’d done something really stupid as a kid. A kind of disappointment, mixed with frustration, mixed with acceptance. Which coming from Cas, was pretty weird,

"Go away, Dean.” Cas' words came out weak through strained breathing, but still powerful and commanding none the less.

“Cas?” Dean hitched a breath, thinking he hadn’t heard right. He looked at Sam, and Sam was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and an ‘okay, what are you going to do now?’ expression on his face.

“Go away.” Cas repeated as Dean stared at him and Cas averted his face to look down and away; Dean tried, but failed to read the expression on Cas’ face. It was back to its neutral angel-of-the-lord inscrutability, almost like he was scared to show anything for fear it showed everything. Dean understood that. Did it himself all the time. Hated it when others did it to him, though. Dean looked across at Sam, who just shrugged slightly. 

“Cas, I’m sorry for what happened. You know I am” Dean tried to catch his eye but Cas kept his face turned away and gave no response. Dean stood up, not knowing how far to push, if at all. Sure he’d fucked up. They all knew that. They really couldn’t afford all this emotional shit though.

“Sam, give us a minute will you?”

“No.” Cas was determined through increasingly labored breaths.

“Now just a frigging minute, Cas …”

“Not now, Dean” Cas drooped a little towards Sam, leaning into him as Sam still held him, the effort of speaking and breathing at the same time almost seeming too much.

Dean looked at Sam over Cas’ head and got an imperceptible nod from Sam. What else could he do but leave? For now. He backed out of the room, leaving Sam and Cas still crouched on the floor, watching Sam’s worried face, trying to feel pissed as hell but failing miserably.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” 

Dean shut the door behind him and started down the stairs but had barely covered two steps when Sam’s urgent shout brought him back up the stairs and into the room at a run.

Cas convulsed on the rug by the bed, his eyes closed, his body jerking in uncontrolled movements.

“Grab his legs!” Sam was holding Cas’ arms and trying to lean on his chest to stop him hurling himself against the bedroom furniture in the small room. Dean grabbed Cas’ shins with his hands, holding him down against the floorboards. Cas bucked and squirmed and thrashed with a strength that surprised him, and Sam too judging by the occasional yelp Sam let out. 

Dean wasn’t sure how long it went on for. Long enough for him to start getting very worried. Sam and he held on and on until suddenly Cas’ movements slowed and came to a stop and within a few seconds he lay still on the floorboards. 

Tentatively Dean lifted his hands a few inches and saw Sam doing the same. He held his breath waiting to be sure it was over, and finally released it in a puff of relief.

Sam looked scared, and Sam was better at this medical stuff than Dean was, so if Sam was scared, Dean was scared.

“What the fuck was that?”

Sam shook his head to indicate he didn’t know and moved his hand to run fingers through Cas’ hair, feeling for bumps, bruises, cuts that might show a head injury. Dean flicked between Cas’ face and Sam’s but Sam completed his exploration with a shake of his head.

“Not concussion I don’t think. Probably a fever. He’s still really hot.” 

Sam looked up at him, looked embarrassed, then asked “are you going to stay? Someone should stay with him. In case it happens again. But if he wakes up and you’re here…” Sam didn’t finish the sentence but he didn’t need to. Dean may not be the man most in touch with his emotions but he wasn’t an imbecile.

“I’ll stay” a simple statement that buried all the unspoken words, ‘I’m worried about him’, ‘I care about him’, ‘I want to fix him’, ‘it’s my fault’.

Between them, Sam and Dean lifted Cas carefully back on to the bed. He showed no signs of being aware of anything, back to that still, silent figure Dean had seen when he’d first walked into the room. Dean sat down in his chair close to the bed and heard Sam close the door quietly behind him. 

Cas didn’t move and Dean daydreamed, drifting in and out of horrific images of hell and torture and angels being chased by hellhounds. He could hear the angel screaming as the hellhounds tore it to shreds and woke with a start when he realized the screaming wasn’t in his dream. 

Cas thrashed on the bed, his long fingers fisted into the thin sheets, his back arched, his face screwed up and wordless screams sounded raw in his throat. 

Dean leapt forward, wrapping his arms round Cas’ heaving shoulders, drawing Cas against his chest to hold him still almost having to shout over the screams “it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’ve got you” over and over as he held Cas trying to steady him and calm him. 

Sam came bursting into the room “what the hell?”

“I’ve no freaking idea. Give me a hand.”

“Jesus, Dean. He’s burning up” Sam stared at Dean as he put a hand on Cas’ arm to help calm him, and instantly snatched it away.

The screaming died to whimpering and moans and Cas’ movements became less agitated. Dean continued speaking to him till he calmed some more, still holding him until it became embarrassing to be doing so, reluctantly, then, lowering the limp figure back on to the bed.

“You okay?” Sam looked at Dean, concerned.

“No, I’m not freakin’ okay! Look at him Sam! Listen to him! I did that to him. He’s my friend and look what I did to him.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen, Dean.”

“No I didn’t. But I didn’t even think about whether it might happen and I should have. You would have thought about it wouldn’t you Sam?” Sam’s silence was answer enough. Dean knew he would have. Sam thought things through. Dean was all action first, worry about the consequences later, and this wasn’t the first time it’d got him, or someone close to him, in trouble. 

“Is someone going to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Bobby’s voice reached them yelling from downstairs. 

“Sam?” Dean knew it was unfair, but hell, Sam wasn’t going to get yelled at for being a selfish idjit. He almost smiled at the dirty look Sam gave him.

He turned back to Cas as Sam turned to leave.

“Aw, crap”

Sam turned back “Wha…oh. ” 

Whether the wounds just hadn’t healed or whether Cas had opened them with all the thrashing around wasn’t clear, but there was a spreading pool of blood on the bandages on his side and the sheets under him that hadn’t been there before. 

Sam left the room and returned fast, throwing a couple of towels from the bathroom into the room at Dean.

“Try and stop the bleeding. I’ll let Bobby know what’s happening and I’ll bring more bandages and the stitching kit.”

Dean watched Cas’ face for signs of discomfort or consciousness as he carefully removed the wet, bloody bandages. It was the first time Dean had seen the injuries and he took a sharp breath when he looked at the deep wounds puckering Cas flesh, so close, a finger’s width away from where it needed to be to kill him. It was the wound on the underside below the rib that had come apart and he turned Cas slightly onto his side to press a towel against the seeping tear there. 

Cas squirmed as he moved him, groaning, but didn’t wake up.

“I’m sorry, Cas. Bear with me. I need to do this. I’ve got you.” He talked continually, soothingly, random thoughts, keeping his voice low and his words easy and Cas settled and stilled under his hands. 

Why wasn’t he healing? Damn it! He hadn’t realized how much he relied on Cas to heal himself. Dean knew he asked him to do things that stretched him, weakened him, but always he managed to heal himself, although slowly sometimes. He knew he thought of Cas as this immortal entity, and as he looked at his friend now, he realized for the first time that he wasn’t. It was a fucking hard way to learn a lesson.

Sam brought bandages, the stitching kit and some ice in cold water and towels for the fever. While Sam stitched, Dean pressed cooling compresses to Cas neck, face and chest trying to bring down the fever.

“Dean, I think some of this stuff is starting to heal” Sam was examining the wounds carefully as he stitched.

“Seriously? Cas just lost a pint of blood, is running at a temperature that would be boiling the brains of most humans and he’s starting to heal? C’mon Sam, don’t give me crap.”

“Just sayin’”

Dean could feel Sam watching him as he made tender presses against Cas’ skin with the towels, just as he would have done, had done, for Sam “just do your job, dude and quit watching me.”

Sam finished stitching and while he replaced the gauze and tape, took a deep breath, as he always did when he was going to broach something he thought would be unpopular “Bobby thinks we need to give up and go get Adam anyway, without Cas.”

“Don’t say ‘give up’ in this room. No-one’s giving up on Cas.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Dean.”

Yeah, Dean knew it wasn’t what Sam meant. He was just being a bitch. 

He stood up from the bed and stroked his chin wearily. Looking at his watch, then back at Cas he thought through their options. The angels probably didn’t care a few hours here or there. Sam had mentioned that anyway. Cas had said it. But Adam would and who knew what Zachariah was doing to Adam right now, complete and utter dick that he was. 

Dean didn’t want to leave Cas. Needed to know he was ok. Needed to let him know he was sorry. More importantly than that, needed to make Cas understand that he was sorry. Truth told he didn’t know Adam from a bar of soap. Cas was more family than Adam was, but Dean wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he could let Adam rot or take his place.

“Let’s give it a few hours, Sammy. “

“Dean…”

“Sam, please. Just a few hours.”

Sam paused for a little before answering then with understanding he responded “Sure, Dean.” Sam left to go back to Bobby who was getting antsy downstairs. Dean thought, not for the first time, that he had a great little brother.

Dean sat down again on the chair beside the bed and as he kept Cas cool with cold, sopping towels he talked to him, rambling random thoughts. He knew Cas probably couldn’t hear him. Actually, was pretty pleased he couldn’t hear him ‘cause he might say some stuff he’d never, like ever, normally say out loud. But he had to say it, in case Cas didn’t wake up, either before he left, or at all.

“Cas, you know how I feel right? You’re my friend. You’re my brother. Hell, actually, I don’t know what you are. 

We live this weird life where any one of us might die at any time but we’re supposed to have each other’s backs and I didn’t have yours. I know you’re an angel, but you’re also not an angel. You’re so much more than those dicks.

I didn’t think. I never think. I know that. Sam knows that. You know that. And goddamnit, you’re supposed to fix yourself. You’re invincible. It’s not supposed to matter. You’re going to live forever. It’s in the angel job description or something. You pulled me out of frigging hell you’re so powerful. 

I know what you did for me and I let you down. Hell, I’ll probably let you down again. I may say yes. It seems the right thing to do to me. I’ve seen the future, and this is a way round it. 

I know you can’t have faith in me but forgive me, Cas. Please forgive me.”

Dean spoke his inner-most thoughts, some buried so deep he surprised even himself when he said them aloud. He didn’t feel any less guilty, any less deserving of forgiveness, any more worthy of Cas’ faith in him, but he felt he understood himself more than he had in a long time. He wandered the room, returning to replace cold compresses, to check bandages and stitches, to squeeze an arm or a hand, talking constantly.

He repeated himself endlessly, like a prayer, as if the repetitiveness made the things he said truer, more real. He perched on furniture, on Cas’ bed, leant against the window frame watching the day turn to night outside, the moonlight finally glinting on the scrap yard cars. He was left alone and undisturbed and Cas slept on.

Dean thought there was improvement, some slight healing going on, less heat, less fever and he dared to pray.

~*~*~*

For a while now, Cas had watched and listened to Dean as he’d wandered the now dark room. Now Dean had his back to him, his hands leaning on the window, his weight leaning into his arms, looking out the window into Bobby’s scrap yard, still talking. Cas listened to the cadence of Dean’s voice, the soft rhythm and flow of the words. Cas heard not only the words but the intent of them, and Dean’s honesty warmed him. When Dean began repeating himself again, Cas interrupted him.

“Are we having a moment here, Dean?” his voice was weak but clear as a bell, as Dean paused in his monologue.

Dean whipped round to stare at Cas. A mix of pleasure, relief, concern and panic flashed over his features. “Cas? Thank god.”

Dean moved to sit on the chair. He looked nervous and wary, but Cas had no intention of telling him to go away this time. 

“How long have you been awake? How much did you hear?” Dean asked suspiciously, once he seemed sure he was being allowed to stay.

“I heard enough” Cas coughed, his face screwing up as it pulled at his injuries.

Dean reached for the water on the bedside table and pulled Cas up a little to take a sip. The cool water was luxurious on his dry mouth and throat.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine”

Dean snorted derision “Yeah, right.”

“I'm starting to heal. I will recover.”

Dean felt Cas’ forehead with the back of his hand and his fever was down. He leant to peer at the injuries on his side, and looking up at Cas’ face asked “may I?”

Cas nodded and Dean turned him slightly to one side. Cas winced but that was all and when Dean looked there was no new blood on the bandages. He rolled him gently back down.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I forgive you.”

“How can you after what I did to you?” 

“I forgive you because when you say you’re sorry, you mean it on so many different levels. It's in your mind when you speak.”

“Yeah, well I broke you in the first place remember?”

Cas shook his head. “My brothers and sisters broke me.”

Dean looked at Cas and Cas could see Dean searching for the sincerity in his face and in his eyes. Cas wasn’t worried. He meant what he said. 

“Thanks, dude.”

Cas closed his eyes on the pillow. “Just please don’t do it again.” And a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

~*~*~*

Sam, Dean and Cas strode down the side of the derelict warehouse.

“Where the hell are we?” Dean looked around him at the warehouse and grounds, grass growing between pavers, not a soul around.

“Van Nuys, California.” 

“Where’s the beautiful room?”

“In there.”

“The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?”

“Where’d you think it was?”

“I—I don’t know. Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not Van Nuys.” Cas cast a sideways look at Dean, faintly amused.

“Tell me again why you don’t just grab Adam and shazam the hell out of there.”

“Because there are at least five angels in there.”

“So? You’re fast.”

“They’re faster.” And, Cas thought, they’re not hampered by half-healed injuries and a distinct lack of angel power, but he kept that thought to himself. Dean knew, felt bad enough as it was and didn’t need to be reminded.

Cas slipped off his tie, folding it in his hand. Dean gave him a slightly puzzled look but Cas didn’t explain. He hadn’t told them his plan. He’d known they wouldn’t like it.

“I’ll clear them out. You two grab the boy. This is our only chance.”

“Whoa, wait. You’re gonna take on five angels?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that suicide?” 

Cas looked at Dean. He may have forgiven him, but he still didn’t trust him not to say yes to Michael. 

“Maybe it is. But then I won’t have to watch you fail. I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t have the same faith in you that Sam does.”

Cas pulled a box-cutter from his trench coat pocket.

“What the hell are you gonna do with that?” Sam looked like he wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know.

Cas looked embarrassed at both brothers, but it was the only thing he could think of. He started to explain, hesitantly but only had the first few words out before Dean cottoned on and grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from Sam, out of his hearing.

“You can’t!”

“I have to.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I can’t see any other chance we have of doing this.”

“Don’t do it Cas. I’m begging you.” And Dean really was. Cas could see that if Dean could do anything to stop this, he would. Well, almost anything, and there lay the crux.

“Promise me you won’t say yes to Michael.”

Dean looked at Cas. Cas knew he couldn’t promise that. Dean didn’t know how it was going to go down in there and neither did Cas.

Dean’s eyes stared into his, imploring, but resigned now. “Cas, at least promise me one thing? Come back.”

Cas responded to the intent behind the words “I'll try, Dean.”

Dean took the box-cutter from Cas’ loose fingers and motioned for him to unbutton his shirt and with a grim determination cut the sigil into Cas’ chest as painlessly as he could.

\----The End----

**Author's Note:**

> This story has some scenes which are lifted directly from the episode because they’re contextually relevant. If you recognize some dialogue, that’s why. It will make more sense if you are familiar with the story behind the episode. If you want to re-familiarise yourself with the episode, a transcript is available here from the lovely people at supernaturalwiki http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=5.18_Point_Of_No_Return_(Transcript)


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